A  SOUL'S  FARING 


rW  mi*.  LIBRARY,  MS  JJfGSLES 


A  SOULS  FARING 


MURIEL  STRODE 


BONI  AND  LIVERIGHT 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  BONI  &  LIVERICHT,  IKC. 


All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

I  PAGES 

CREATION  SONGS  ........          1-8 


II 

SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


III 
SONGS  OF  HIM  .........      49-57 

IV 

PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDING  .....      58-65 

V 
SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM     .....       66-75 

VI 

A  SOUL'S  FARING    .......     76-167 


2133073 


CREATION  SONGS 


CREATION  SONGS 


I  will  tell  you  the  things  that  will  ravish  your  ear 

to  hear,  for  I  am  Life's  lover. 
She  told  me  her  secrets,  as  she  lay  in  my  wanton 

arms. 
She  told  me  the  things  of  her  deep  yearning,  of  her 

secret  heart. 
She  told  them  to  my  love  for  her,  to  the  press  of 

my  breast. 

She  told  herself  to  my  kisses. 
She  met  my  warm  breath  with  disclosures,  as  she 

held  me  close  in  an  informing  embrace. 


CREATION  SONGS 


II 


I  am  Life's  lover! 

I  plant  the  meaning  of  my  great  yearning  upon 

her  upturned  lips. 

I  press  her  to  my  breast  in  a  great  answering. 
She  shall  define  the  meaning  of  my  fire  and  fever. 


[2] 


CREATION  SONGS 


III 


I  am  the  love-mad  of  life. 

I  have  reached  out  in  my  pain  to  the  love-frenzied 
grouse. 

I  have  called  in  my  understanding  to  the  deer  in 
their  rutting  season. 

I  have  come  with  gentle  words  to  the  mating  chirp 
ings  in  the  eaves. 

I  have  touched  tenderly  the  seeking  pollen. 

I  have  come  with  bated  breath  to  the  spawn  at  the 
beginnings  of  streams. 

I  am  the  ache  of  overfullness. 
My  breasts  are  crowded  with  containing. 
My  hands  tremble  with  the  eagerness  of  me. 
I  am  rent  and  torn  with  the  pain  of  the  unex 
pressed. 


[3] 


CREATION  SONGS 


IV 


I  am  drunk  with  being, — 

Life's  inebriate  reeling  down  an  enchanted  way. 
I  shout  my  maudlin  greeting  to  the  trees. 
I  grasp  familiarly  the  gentle  fingers  of  the  grass. 
I  press  my  wine-wet  lips  to  the  roses  with  my  in 
sistent  kissing. 


[4] 


CREATION  SONGS 


I  know  the  thrill  of  the  grasses  when  the  rain  pours 

over  them. 
I  know  the  trembling  of  the  leaves  when  the  winds 

sweep  through  them. 
I  know  what  the  white  clover  felt  as  it  held  a  drop 

of  dew  pressed  close  in  its  beauteousness. 
I  know  the  quivering  of  the  fragrant  petals  at  the 

touch  of  the  pollen-legged  bees. 
I  know  what  the  stream  said  to  the  dipping  willows, 

and  what  the  moon  said  to  the  sweet  lavender. 
I  know  what  the  stars  said  when  they  came  stealth 
ily  down  and  crept  fondly  into  the  tops  of 

the  trees. 


[5] 


CREATION  SONGS 


VI 


I  am  the  omnipotent  life,  the  potency-thrill. 

I  am  the  fructifier  meeting  the  urge  of  space,  scat 
tering  my  spawn  like  the  dust  of  stars  in  the 
Milky  Way. 

I  am  red  fire  leaping  in  and  out  of  channels,  the 

insistence  of  me,  the  yearning. 
I  am  the  demand. 


[6] 


CREATION  SONGS 


VII 


I  am  drunk  with  the  wine  of  me,  intoxicant  of  my 
own  being, 

Bacchante  of  my  own  soul's  steepings, 

Beset  by  the  realization  of  me,  driven  by  knowing. 

I  pour  myself  out  like  the  singing  starling. 

I  drink,  and  kiss  Life's  wanton  lips  with  the  drip 
ping  lips  of  me. 


[7] 


CREATION  SONGS 


VIII 

I  am  the  universe's  harlot, 

Selling  myself  to  ecstasy's  thrills; 

Giving  myself  to  be  debauched  of  stars,  ravished 

of  ineffableness; 

Seduced  by  a  wanton  ungraspableness; 
Coming  to  marriage  bed  with  infinity's  horde, 
Wanton  wife  of  the  eternity  of  things. 


[8] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


I,  the  atom  of  creation,  have  arrived. 
I  make  contact  with  gods,  I  align  with  spheres. 
I  am  the  test,  the  processment,  the  determining. 
I  am  life.     I  impinge  you.     I  fall  upon  you  with 

great  weights. 
I  eviscerate  you.     I  tap  your  arteries  and  drain 

you. 

I  am  the  insistent  one.    You  cannot  escape  me. 
I  unsettle  you.     I  make  you  moan  over  the  nights 

and  the  days. 
I  bring  you  weeping,  wringing  your  hands,  crying 

out  to  the  pale  stars,  promising  an  atoning. 


[9] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


II 


I  am  attuned  to  the  utterance. 

Day  and  night  strike  on  the  chords  of  me. 

Humanity  brushes  me  with  its  sweep. 

Winds  moan  over  me. 

I  am  attuned  to  worlds'  turnings. 

I  melt  and  merge  in  the  musical  ether. 

I  am  the  long  ropes  of  steel,  and  I  am  the  strands 
of  blue  moonlight — the  strength  and  the 
beauty. 

I  am  the  violets,  and  I  am  the  rocks — the  kindness 
and  the  no-capitulation. 

I  come  in  the  big  recognition  of  little  things,  in  the 
stupendous  portent  of  a  moment,  the  dynam 
ics  of  a  blade  of  grass. 


[10] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


III 

I  come  in  my  adequacy,  my  own  sufficience,  lifting 

you,  and  me,  and  the  world. 
Nothing  is  formidable,  no  thing  blocks  my  way. 
I  smile  in  unfear,  in  conscious  potency. 
I  come  with  yet  more  strength  for  the  strong,  with 

suage  for  the  assuager.    I  am  the  sustaining 

arms  for  the  all-sufficient  one,  the  comfort  of 

the  comforter. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


IV 


I  do  not  come  with  charted  countries, — I  bring  you 
plains  that  are  trackless,  seas  that  have  never 
known  sail. 

I  bring  you  visions  without  survey,  time  that  has 
never  been  espoused. 

I  bring  that  that  has  never  been  accepted,  that  is 
beyond  the  pale,  the  impossible,  the  un 
dreamed-of  thing. 

I  am  the  doer  of  things  that  cannot  be  done. 

I  chant  impossibilities. 


[12] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


I  am  one  with  the  beatings  in  the  breast  of  the  sea, 
with  the  suspiring  mountains  and  the  living 
ether,  with  the  pulsings  of  day  and  the  throb- 
bings  of  night. 

I  am  beat  upon  by  ineffableness,  by  imperceptibili- 
ties. 

I  walk  in  the  presence  of  unformed  things. 

I  am  the  thrill  of  the  indefinable,  that  has  identity 
but  you  cannot  measure  it,  you  cannot  call  its 
name. 


[13] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


VI 

I  am  the  cliffs — floods  pour  down  upon  me  and  I 

stand. 
I  am  the  ages,  with  infinity  stretched  between  my 

shores. 
I  am  man  the  container,  with  God  pouring  into  me 

like  a  stream. 
I  am  the  channels,  the  in  and  the  out. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


VII 


I  am  the  spirit  of  high  hills  and  of  unconfmed 

spaces. 
I  am  the  sense  of  the  boulders,  of  the  earth  that  is 

gnarled. 

I  am  wild,  and  rough,  and  meaningful. 
I  grasp  Life's  wrists  until  it  writhes  in  pain,  in  the 

uncontained  forcefulness  of  me. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


VIII 


I  am  the  revolt,  the  vehemence,  the  protest.    I  am 

the  passion. 

I  throw  myself  against  the  resistance.      ^M* 
It  is  the  heave  and  the  thrust  of  me.  * 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


IX 


I  am  the  lyrist  of  an  hour, — and  I  am  the  sayer  of 

centuries.    I  pronounce  for  eternity. 
I  tell  you  my  human  pain, — and  I  tell  you  my 

God-longing. 
I  tell  you  the  ache  of  my  finite  being, — and  the 

throes  of  my  infinite  incompleteness. 
I  sing  the  little  lilt  of  a  day, — and  I  sing  the  paeans 

of  time. 
I  am  the  cry  of  a  titmouse  whose  nest  is  robbedy — 

and  I  am  the  cry  from  out  the  devastated 

womb  of  worlds. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


I  celebrate.    I  spread  the  fete-day  of  achievement. 

I  come  with  new  adventure. 

Out  of  the  dew  of  the  morning  I  come  with  further 

word,  with  a  new  import  and  meaning. 
The   ages'   interpretation   I   refute.     I   bring  the 

definition  out  of  the  hour. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XI 


I  perpetuate  me. 

I  fight  the  fight  for  my  soul,  against  my  own  extinc 
tion. 

I  align  myself  with  inextinguishableness. 

I  stretch  in  a  living,  breathing  trail.  From  ages' 
rim  to  ages'  rim  I  stretch  with  my  sufficience. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XII 

I  am  the  promise  written  across  the  sky,  I  am  the 
portentous  thrill. 

I  am  not  definitive — I  am  the  pulsings  of  limitless- 
ness. 

I  do  not  analyze — I  fill  with  a  great,  unnamed 
yearning. 

I  do  not  determine — I  spread  the  universe  before 
you. 


W7J 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XIII 

I  do  not  bring  you  by  argument,  but  by  thrills  of 

your  blood. 
I  precipitate  you,  not  by  force,  but  by  a  feeling.    I 

surcharge  you  with  an  emotion. 
I  melt  you  and  me  to  a  pouring.    We  burn  in  the 

white  fire  of  me. 
We  are  safe  in  my  magic.    I  restore  to  a  new  shape 

and  use. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XIV 

I  am  the  bore-worm  of  time,  hewing  down  the 

years  with  the  slow  incisors  of  me. 
Eons  yield  to  my  insistence.     I  eat  at  their  roots 

until  time  topples  at  my  slow  devouring. 
I  am  the  Answerer.    I  walk  the  starry  strands  of 

skies,  grasping  the  intent. 
I  read  the  secret.    The  unanswering  Sphynx  finds 

its  voice  to  me. 


[22] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XV 


Ten  thousand  voices  say  No,  but  I  come  in  ten 
thousand  multiples  of  my  strength. 

I  am  my  own  affirmative  that  transcends  all  nega 
tives  and  denials. 

The  day  renounces  me — and  I  sink  my  roots 
deeper  into  the  centuries. 

You  may  not  hear,  but  your  dust  will  quicken. 

Myself! — intrepid  I  fling  it  in  kindness  to  the 
remoteness  of  time. 


[23] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XVI 

I  span  continents  and  overstep  seas. 

Planets  are  in  my  itinerary. 

I  greet  the  sun  in  its  habitat. 

I  sail  placidly  with  the  moon. 

I  am  the  big  concept,  the  infinity  of  measurement. 


[24] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XVII 

I  am  the  apex,  standing  aghast  at  the  route  I  have 

come. 

I  am  the  universe,  appalled  at  my  own  magnitude. 
I  lead  the  concourse  of  onwardness,  yet  dumb  with 

incomprehensibleness  of  that  which  I  am. 


[25] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XVIII 

I  step  the  hills,  I  escape  the  thraldom. 

I  match  my  breath  against  the  great,  deep  currents 

of  the  sky,  against  the  suspirings  of  time. 
I  am  the  claimer  of  infinity. 
I  am  the  cycles  of  increasement,  the  ages  of  the 

accretion  of  life. 


[26] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XIX 

I  am  the  extreme,  that  you  may  have  the  courage 

to  be  the  average. 
I  anticipate  time,  that  you  may  come  in  perfect 

articulation  with  the  day. 
I  mount  to  the  perilous  heights,  that  you  may  have 

the  courage  to  come  up  to  the  happy  mountain 

meadows. 
I  build  my  towers  to  the  sun,  I  flaunt  my  jeweled 

minarets  to  the  sky,  that  you  may  build  a 

glad  roof  and  a  happy  housement. 


[27] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XX 


I  am  not  the  follower  of  designs:  I  am  the  con- 

ceptor.    I  bring  the  plans. 
I  am  the  creator  and  his  seven  days.    I  bring  the 

blueprint  of  creation. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXI 

I  am  the  accouchement  of  formidable  things. 

I  bear  a  hill,  I  bring  into  conscious  existence  a 

forest,  a  plain,  or  a  sea.    It  is  their  spawn  I 

scatter. 

I  plant  the  seed  of  mastodonic  birth. 
I  give  my  breasts  to  titanic  things. 

I  am  delivered  of  infant  mountains, 

The  foetus  of  wide-open  space  forms  in  me, 

The  firmament  is  conceived. 

I  come  fructified  of  big  issues,  the  spawn-bed  of 

world-events. 
I  am  Titan  Mother,  the  Great  Progenitor,  Parent  of 

Stupendities. 


[29] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXII 

I  am  the  pillars  that  uphold  the  earth,  the  arch  that 
lifts  up  the  sky. 

I  am  the  rim  of  the  horizon  supporting  the  up 
turned  bowl. 

I  command  night  and  day.  Stars  course  at  my 
calling,  the  moon  shines  at  my  behest. 

At  my  command  the  sun  stands  still. 

I  am  keeper  of  light  and  of  shade — it  is  I  that 
disperse. 

I  set  the  tides  free — it  is  my  leash  that  restrains 
them. 

I  am  keeper  of  the  caves  of  the  winds — it  is  I  that 
open  the  door  and  send  them  scurrying. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXIII 

Eternity  is  in  my  right  hand; 

Infinity  rests  like  a  drape  on  my  shoulders. 

I  am  omnipotent,  omniscient,  all  time  and  all 

place. 
I  am  infinite,  eternal  energy,  coursing  like  swollen 

rivers  through  the  channels  of  creation. 


[31] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXIV 

I  am  not  the  quick-consuming — the  sisal-grass  and 
the  tinder.  I  am  the  molten  craters  of  worlds, 
burning  as  long  as  time. 


[32] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXV 

I  do  not  measure  to  a  day — I  am  of  cyclic  propor 
tions. 

My  arteries  are  seas'  coursings. 

My  breath  is  the  winds  blown  over  worlds. 

My  heartbeats  are  the  swing  of  the  pendulum  that 
marks  infinity's  accretion  and  decay. 

Races  exist,  and  cease  to  exist,  in  a  single  suspir 
ing  of  me. 

Worlds  are,  and  are  no  more,  in  a  simple  turn  of 
my  hand. 


[33] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXVI 

I  am  the  primal  things,  form  out  of  incohesion, 

articulation  out  of  inaccent. 
I  am  the  roll  of  a  million  years. 
I  come  like  the  roaring  winds,  like  pines  moaning, 

like  great,  snow-covered  steppes,  majestic  and 

awful. 
I  am  the  caught  breath  of  the  heights,  uttering  in 

a  voice  big  with  vastness. 

I  deliver  myself,  I  discharge  the  day. 

I  come  to  the  forbidden  edge. 

I  strap  on  the  sheath  of  unf ear  and  gird  the  strands 

of  daring  about  me. 
It  is  I  who  must  subdue  the  beasts  by  a  look,  and 

command  the  potencies  by  a  gesture. 


[34] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXVII 

I  emancipate  myself  into  the  ranks  of  the  signifi 
cant, 

I  make  a  difference  in  the  count  and  the  weigh, 
I  augment  the  ranks  of  purpose, 
I  add  depth  to  the  hour 

I  am  identified  with  great  bridges,  with  high  towers 
and  long  tunnelings. 

What  I  build  I  build  with  steam-shovels,  with  der 
ricks  and  cranes. 

I  sink  great  pilings,  and  great  walls  arise. 

I  am  the  Significant  One  of  great  issues  and  enter 
prises. 


[35] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXVIII 

I  am  that  wild  thing  that  sweeps  over  the  world  like 

the  brown  panthers  of  the  wind. 
My  jaw  is  truculent  and  moist  with  a  sense  feeling. 
I  am  scouring  space  for  a  flavor,  for  the  taste  of 

a  scented  thing. 

I  am  breast  to  breast  with  the  great  import; 
Stepping  the  stride  of  the  infinite  intent; 
Measuring  myself  against  the  utmost  possibility. 


[36] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXIX 

I  am  the  bloodhounds  of  reality.  I  have  caught 
the  scent  and  my  nostrils  are  mad. 

I  shall  yet  hold  it  in  my  iron  teeth  and  hear  it 
crunch  with  the  press  of  my  iron  jaw. 

I  shall  tear  it  limb  from  limb. 

I  am  the  tawn  of  beast-men,  the  savagery  of  wild 
desire.  I  come  in  insecurity  and  the  endless 
quest,  into  unconquered  jungles  and  the  cer 
tainty  of  danger. 

I  summon  my  forces  and  am  on  my  way,  ally  to 
my  strength,  fortified  in  the  desire  of  me, 
mortised  in  the  yearning,  girded  by  the  great 
unfear. 


[37] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXX 

I  come  with  my  rendered  life. 

I  carry  burdens:    I  lift  mountains  with  a  song. 

I  dig  ditches — furrows  to  the  moon  and  trenches 

to  the  Milky  Way. 
I  level  ages  with  my  strength  and  brawn. 


[38] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXI 

Out  of  the  red  pain  of  life,  I  come  singing  the 

white  joy  of  being. 

I  come  becarroled  out  of  the  crushings. 
I  find  the  triumph  over  moaning  wheels. 

Out  of  myself!    Out  of  myself! — worlds,  eons  and 

acts; 

Realities,  consummations; 
Amplitudes  and  abundance. 


[39] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXII 

I  am  the  stalwart  life,  robust  with  much  living, 

spread  with  much  containing. 
I  am  fibrous  with  thought,  and  sinewy  with  feeling, 

grown  big  with  contact. 
I  am  a  god  grown  tall,  filled  with  adultage. 
Worlds  ripen,  time  matures,  and  man  arrives  out 

of  himself. 


[40] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXIII 

I  am  prolific  with  accomplishment,  the  doer  of 
things,  the  accomplisher  of  days. 

I  come  in  the  ecstasy  of  performance  and  fulfill 
ment,  fashioning  from  the  vision,  faithful  to 
the  potency  and  the  portent. 

I  read  the  signs  in  the  sky,  and  am  on  my  way. 

I  hear  the  command,  and  do  not  falter. 


[41] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXIV 

I  am  that  ultramontane  thing,  that  beyond-the- 
mountain  feeling. 

I  am  that  that  is  over  the  rim,  beyond  the  yearn 
ing. 

I  am  the  seeker,  the  questing,  the  endless  unrest, 
the  spirit-adventurer. 

I  mark  paths  across  virgin  mains. 

I  stalk  the  cormorant's  scream  to  the  white  archi 
pelagoes. 

I  drive  the  Southern  Remoteness,  and  come  upon 
the  nesting  place  of  the  black  penguins  of  my 
soul. 

I  bring  you  something  new  out  of  truth — a  black 
feather  from  an  a3rie,  a  fledgling  from  a 
stony,  proclivitous  nest. 


[42] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXV 

I  am  the  security. 

The  roots  of  ages  are  sunk  deep  in  me. 

God  is  mortised  in  my  granite  walls. 

^  >| 

I  am  the  clod  that  has  taken  wingi  the  vapor  that 

has  become  a  burning. 

I  am  the  conflagration  sweeping  down  the  tinder- 
paths  of  the  sky,  the  flame  consuming. 


[43] 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXVI 

I  am  the  utterer,  creation's  spokesman. 

I  am  the  day  uttering  the  light,  the  night  uttering 
the  stars. 

I  am  the  tanager  uttering  its  crimson,  the  spoken 
breast  of  the  peacock. 

I  am  the  stem  uttering  the  roses,  the  ground  utter 
ing  the  grasses,  and  the  hills  uttering  the 
trees. 


[44] 


.    -, 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXVII 

I  am  the  vats,  the  containers,  the  storage  house  of 
the  infinite  supply. 

I  come  in  the  power  of  me.  I  who  tended  a  single 
ash,  am  keeper  of  the  forests. 

I  that  minded  a  lone  star,  am  minder  of  the  firma 
ment. 

I  that  kept  the  narrow  path  to  my  gate,  am  keeper 
of  the  stretches  of  infinity. 

I  intensify  life. 

I  compel  grasses  to  utter  out  of  sands. 

I  strike  the  rock  with  the  command  of  me. 

I  slay  the  desert  that  stretches  over  life  with  its 

sinister,  hot-vapored  meaning. 
I  pit  the  demand  of  me  against  the  denial. 


XXXVIII 

I  unsettle  you. 

I  give  you  fitful  starlings  in  the  night,  outcries  in 
your  dreams. 

I  am  the  goad. 

I  taunt  you  into  darings. 

I  toss  you  into  unf  athomings. 

I  give  you  the  sword  with  the  two  edges  and  send 

you  forth  to  win  or  lose  by  what  you  are. 
I  am  the  demand — no  proffered  halfness,  no  grim- 

visaged  defeat. 

I  grant  you  explorations,  adventuring. 
I  grant  you  menace  and  the  bloodshed  of  your 
spirit,  and  the  crucifixion  at  the  end  of  the 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XXXIX 

I  am  the  established. 

I  am  the  roses  that  bloom,  regardless  of  the  sput 
tering. 

I  am  the  stars  that  shine  unperturbedly. 

I  roll  on  like  the  years — nothing  impedes  me. 

I  shine  like  the  sun,  regardless  of  the  day. 

I  am  fixed,  eternal.  Events  revolve  around  me. 
They  are  the  turning. 


SONGS  OF  THE  STRONG 


XL 

I  am  the  seven  league  boots  of  being. 

I  take  the  measure  of  infinite  stride. 

I  loose  myself  from  circumscription,  and  set  my 
self  free  into  unrestricted  movement  and 
space. 

I  make  a  path  for  titans. 

I  blaze  a  way  for  gods. 


[48] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 

i 

I  am  world-free! 

I  drink  the  seas,  I  stalk  the  stars, 

I  step  frozen  Northern  worlds. 

I  lie  in  my  bare,  brown  skin  under  palmetto  trees. 

I  am  loosed  out  of  me. 
I  shout  my  greetings  to  Him  in  space. 
I  halloo  Him  in  the  copper-colored  sky. 
I  reach  out  my  hands  to  grasp  Him  as  the  winds 
sweep  by. 

I  am  world-free! 

I  deliver  me  from  myself,  I  purchase  release. 

I  pay  with  knowing  and  the  endless  insistence. 


[49] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


II 

I  come  in  the  Great  Impersonal,  to  show  you  the 
way  to  the  Great  Personal; 

I  find  God  for  you,  that  you  may  find  yourself; 

I  hound  the  infinite,  that  you  may  take  the  measure 
of  finitism. 

Stalking  me  to  the  stars,  you  will  discover  the 
earth; 

Following  me  to  Him,  you  will  come  upon  your 
self  and  your  brother. 

I  do  not  bring  you  a  pigmy's  God — I  am  of  world- 
bigness  and  I  bring  you  the  Adequate  One. 

I  do  not  defame  Him  by  interpolation. 

I  do  not  discredit  Him  by  a  meager  grasp. 


[50] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


III 


I  shout  His  name  from  the  battlements  of  life. 
I  utter  Him  in  words  of  angry  granite. 
I  write  Him  in  streaks  of  fire  across  the  sky. 
I  moan  Him  in  rumblings  like  a  storm  at  sea. 
I  flaunt  Him  like  the  black  skirts  of  the  furies. 
I  scream  Him  like  the  winds  beset. 
I  accent  Him.     I  topple  down  great  avalanches, 
and  cause  great  upheavals. 


[51] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


IV 

I  come  calm  in  Him. 

The  serenity  of  His  concept  sits  upon  my  brow. 

I  am  the  equipoise  of  His  worlds,  the  evenness  of 

His  pendulum. 
I  am  the  rhythm  of  His  law,  the  meter  of  His 

musical  utterance. 

I  am  His  deep  stillness, 

His  quiet  dawn  grey; 

The  lilt  of  His  butterflies'  wings, 

The  quiet  pouring  of  His  day. 


[52] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


I  come  in  the  majesty  with  which  God  endowed  me: 

In  the  grace  He  gave  to  the  trees; 

In  the  loveliness  which   He  bestowed  upon  the 

flowers ; 

In  the  rhythm  of  the  singing  winds  and  waters. 
All  their  beauty  and  charm  are  mine. 
I  am  more  lovely  than  the  day. 
The  grey,  mist-mantled  evening  is  not  so  seductive. 
The  blue  of  heaven  is  duplicated  in  my  own  soul. 
The  songs  of  the  birds  are  in  the  high  branches  of 

my  being. 
The  sun  shines  warm  and  gold  to  meet  that  warm, 

gold  sun  of  me. 
I  am  nature's  concentrated  loveliness,  the  epitome 

of  all  her  wealth,  and  bounty,  and  abundance. 
There  is  no  dearth  of  any  wonderful  thing  in  me. 


[53] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


VI 

I  am  the  gentleness  of  His  hand,  the  kindness  of 

His  eye. 
I  am  His  tender  contour,  and  the  smile  of  His 

gentle  lips. 
I  am  His  presence,  like  a  heart-mist,  and  His 

strength,  like  woven  faith-tendrils. 
I  am  His  compassion,  like  a  mother's  tears. 

I  am  the  great,  enveloping  care,  the  infusing  affec 
tion. 

I  soften,  I  ease  the  glare,  and  smooth  the  sharpness 
of  the  angles. 

I  am  the  alembics.  I  cast  in  the  grief  that  over- 
lingered,  I  cast  in  your  joy — and  sometimes 
I  cast  in  you. 


[54] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


VII 


I  set  myself  free  into  the  blue-flowing  sky, 

I  melt  with  the  star-mist, 

I  am  one  with  the  moon's  pourings. 

I  come  limpid  and  easy  to  life, 

Meeting  its   curves  and  its  undulations,  as  the 

shore-line  meets  the  sea, 
As  the  sky  meets  the  indenture  of  the  hills. 


[55] 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


VIII 

I  measure  life  by  my  capacity  to  feel  the  fields, 
To  stand  up  to  the  hills, 
To  lay  my  hand  in  His. 

I  sound  the  deep-running  things  of  God. 

I  sink  the  plummet  of  me  deep  into  the  fathoms  of 

His  meaning. 
I  reach  Him  with  the  long  arms  of  my  yearning. 


SONGS  OF  HIM 


IX 


I  relax  myself  into  the  Great  Tenderness. 
The  Great  Heart  folds  me  to  its  breast,  in  the 
mother-arms  of  its  all-pervading  care. 


PRAYERS  OF  A 
WORLDLING 


I  said  I  would  face  my  prayers. 

What  was  the  secret  thing  I  was  praying  with  my 

silent  suspirings? 
What  was  the  furtive  supplication,  the  thing  I 

pleaded  off  guard? 
What  was  it  I  wanted,  stripped  of  all  subterfuge  of 

analysis  and  meaning? 


[58] 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


II 


I  would  know  this  thing  that  smiled  in  its  waking 
moments,  and  moaned  in  its  sleep.  I  would 
know  the  words  of  its  somnolent  uttering. 

I  would  know  why  it  tossed  like  a  soul  beset. 

I  would  know  its  punishment,  its  denial. 

I  would  know  what  it  was  that  it  accepted  from  the 
day,  and  repudiated  in  its  dream. 


Y 


VJVJ 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


III 

I  prayed  with  my  lips,  but  what  was  the  thing  that 
I  prayed  with  my  heartbeats,  with  my  silent 
eyes? 

What  was  the  secret  thing  of  my  longing?  What 
was  my  fear?  Why  did  I  not  call  it  by  its 
name? 

Did  I  not  trust  this  yearning  creature  of  gold  lace 
and  purple  embroideries? 

Did  I  fear  her  dream  of  magnificence? 

Did  I  fear  the  touch  of  her  ravishing,  her  gold 
embrace? 

Why  did  I  not  trust  this  one  of  the  moonmesh  hair? 

God  trusts  His  nights  of  silent,  silver  pourings, 
and  His  dawns  of  blatant  splendor. 

He  trusts  His  moons  of  molten  gold,  and  His  twi 
lights  of  streaming  beauty. 

Why  do  I  not  trust  this  glory-creature  that  is  clam 
oring  in  me  to  be  loosed,  to  be  set  free  from 
the  grey  and  the  ashen — 

This  paradise-bird-of-longing,  this  luxuriat  of 
denial,  this  beauty-thing  denied  to  beauty? 

[60] 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


IV 

PI  will  pray  with  the  integrity  of  me,  God,  with  the 
• 
truth  of  me.     If  my  sybarite  soul  moans,  let 

me  not  lie. 

Let  me  not  come  to  you  traducing  its  beauty-long 
ings. 

Let  me  not  cripple  its  hands  that  reach  to  grasp  the 
stars. 

Let  me  not  stifle  it,  God,  this  bride  of  moonbeams. 

Let  me  not  deny  this  inebriate  of  the  fragrant  twi 
light  air. 

Let  me  not  traduce  this  beauty-iover,  nor  misrepre 
sent  it  to  you  who  know. 

Let  me  bring  it  into  alignment  with  your  own 
beauty-frenzy  that  hung  a  wall  of  trailing 
arbutus  against  the  sky,  that  banked  long 
cliffs  of  purple  shadows  against  the  grey, 
gold-shot  twilight. 

Let  me  not  come  in  ascetic  denial,  mocking  your 
abundance,  you  who  hung  purple  grapes  in 
the  vineyard,  and  scattered  your  prodigal 
soul  like  a  wedding  feast  over  the  world. 


[61] 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


Let  me  come  honestly,  God,  let  me  not  dissemble. 

If  my  heart  is  bleeding  from  the  sting  of  coarse 
hemp  and  ropen  girdles,  let  me  not  misrep 
resent. 

If  I  am  mad  with  the  sight  of  stars,  and  frenzied 
with  the  beauty  of  the  silver,  wanton  moon; 

If  I  am  stricken  by  the  sight  of  your  effulgence  on 
rose  gardens — 

Let  me  come  honestly,  God,  let  me  not  fear  to 
declare. 

Let  my  soul  feel  no  shame  at  its  beauty-ravishment 
and  longing. 

Let  it  accept  this  holy  sense  of  splendor,  and  trust 
its  grasping,  eager  hands. 

Let  it  remember  you,  the  Fire-God  of  Splendor 
acclaim,  and  come  in  the  magnificent  burn 
ing  of  me. 


[62] 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


VI 

I  am  the  nun  of  the  grey-mist  veils,  but  I  tell  you 
I  am  come  in  the  outcries  of  my  mighty  color 
ing,  calling  to  the  God  of  Rescue  that  made 
abalone  shells,  and  sunsets  over  seas; 

That  made  crimson  poppies  and  glaring  streaks  of 
red  in  the  morning  sky. 

I  am  calling  to  Him  in  his  knowing,  this  God  of 
Adjustment  and  Appease; 

This  God  that  uttered  brown  wrens,  and  then 
turned,  in  the  demand  of  His  spirit,  and 
uttered  flamingoes,  and  golden  pheasants. 

I  appeal  to  this  vindicating  God  that  expressed 
violet  and  oxeye,  and  then  turned,  in  the 
flaunt  of  His  soul,  and  screamed  out  of  His 
being  the  utterance  of  an  autumn  forest. 


[63] 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


VII 

j  Once  I  was  the  brown  wren,  but  I  tell  you  this 
/  brown  coat  no  longer  represents  me,  for  I  am 

\          come  in  screaming  colors.     I  have  torn  the 
brown  song  from  my  throat.    My  soul  is  beat 
ing  down  the  grey  day  that  restrains  me. 
I  know  His  quickened  breath,  and  the  trembling  of 
His  fingers  when  He  pressed  into  creation,  out 
of  drab  soil,  the  iris  and  the  tiger-lily. 
I  know  the  tingle  of  His  soul  when  He  pressed  pink 
magnolias  out  of  bare  stems,  and  assembled 
fiery  poinsettias  out  of  the  colorless  earth  and 
air. 


t/ 


[64] 


PRAYERS  OF  A  WORLDLING 


VIII 

Let  me  not  lie,  God.  Let  me  not  drape  my  soul  in 
grey,  and  come  to  you  with  meekly  folded 
hands,  stultified  by  that  which  does  not  ex 
press. 

Let  my  revolting  hands  tear  off  this  quaker-array, 
and  let  me  stand  forth  in  the  lurid  rage  of  me. 

Let  me  come  naked  under  the  sun,  God,  but  let  me 
not  come  white  when  my  yearning  is  crimson. 
Let  me  not  come  in  sandals  when  my  feet  are 
ravished  by  the  consciousness  of  gold  shoes. 

Let  me  not  come  with  lying,  empty  hands,  I,  who 
have  come  grasping  at  ecstasy,  down  inebrial 

ways- 


[65] 


SONGS  OF  LIFE- 
FREEDOM 


I  breathe  freedom.  I  drink  it  in  long,  deep 
draughts. 

I  flank  its  current  and  turn  it  for  my  own  inundat 
ing. 

I  have  made  channels  for  it,  and  reservoirs  for  its 
containing. 

It  is  the  answer  to  the  drought  of  me,  to  the  parched 
years,  to  the  earth  of  me  that  was  bare  and 
sear. 

It  is  the  rain  to  the  desert  of  me,  and  I  have  com 
manded  the  freshets,  the  overflow. 


[66] 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


II 


I  am  no  longer  bonded  to  a  locality,  the  habitat  of 

a  confine. 

I  free  myself  into  world  spaces. 
Vastness  is  in  my  adventure. 
I  am  a  world-person,  a  sky-plainsman,  a  maker  of 

spirit  trails. 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


III 


Once  I  opened  to  the  day, — now  I  open  to  eternity. 
I  had  scope  only  for  my  garden, — now  vastness 

does  not  take  the  measure  of  me. 
I  had  room  only  for  my  own, — now  the  concourses 

of  the  earth  march  through  me  in  a  long  file. 
I  am  universal  consciousness,  risen  out  of  myself, 

projected  into  you  and  the  multitudes  of  the 

earth. 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


IV 

I  am  walking  fast,  for  I  am  walking  far. 
I  swing  out  with  a  free,  swift,  rhythmic  gait. 
I  am  set  to  bound  immeasurableness,  to  include  the 
height,  and  depth,  and  breadth  of  me. 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


I  am  the  invisible  currents  of  power  coursing  the 
universe. 

I  am  the  insistence  of  the  seasons — nothing  re 
strains  me. 

I  come  like  the  approach  of  spring — no  hand  with 
holds  me. 

No  hand  stays  the  roses,  or  holds  back  the  spears 
of  wheat. 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


VI 

I  play  with  elementals  as  with  a  toy. 

Lightning  is  but  a  circlet  of  light  about  my  throat. 

Suns  run  in  strands  of  gold  about  my  white  fore 
head. 

Earths  are  a  flower-cliff  of  wild  nasturtium. 

Stars  are  but  fireflies — I  catch  them  in  my  playful 
hands. 


[71] 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


I  claim  that  out  of  the  wind  that  shouts  me  as  it 

rides  by; 
And  that  out  of  the  hills  that  inflate  me  as  I  look 

upon  them. 
I  claim  that  out  of  the  sky  that  distends  me  to 

meet  it; 
And  that  out  of  the  horizon  that  stings  me  with  its 

recedence. 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


\) 


VIII 

I  ride  the  bridleless  steeds.  Their  flying  feet  have 

wings. 
We  are  lashed  by  a  mighty  spur.     We  achieve 

transcendency.    We  leap  the  crags  of  space. 
We  are  the  world's  wild  riders,  the  daring  ones, 

the  reckless  ones,  fearless  and  safe. 
We  are  the  Bedouins  of  being. 


SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


IX 


I  said  God's  day  was  to  the  fleet — and  I  mounted 

the  winds. 
I  said  God's  seas  were  to  seamen— -and  I  mounted 

the  wild,  sea  mares  that  tossed  foam  of  flame 

from  their  nostrils. 


I 
SONGS  OF  LIFE-FREEDOM 


I  ride  the  wind  with  the  brown  mane  and  the  fiery 
nostrils. 

I  ride  the  wild  horses  of  the  world,  the  unreined 
forces. 

I  leap  their  bare  backs,  and  direct  them. 

We  are  the  fleet  coursers,  outbreasting  the  ages  and 
immensity. 

Time  recedes,  and  we  are  neck  and  neck  with 
tomorrow.  We  are  gaited  to  life's  unending- 
ness. 


[75] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


i 

If  one  could  but  arrive  at  a  normal  expression,  how 
infinitely  one  could  trust  it.  But  life  the 
beauteous  is  compelled  into  a  distortion;  life 
the  human  is  made  a  beast. 

One  does  not  represent — he  misrepresents. 

One  does  not  express — he  is  a  malexpression. 

But  I  will  prove  salvation.  I  will  save  myself.  I 
will  rescue  the  outcast  of  me.  I  will  be  saved 
by  the  brotherhood  in  my  own  breast. 

I  will  rise  above  this  personal  damnation,  into  the 
divine,  impersonal  infinitude  that  I  am. 

I  will  rescue  my  life  from  ultimates.  I  defy  the 
finals  that  are  staring  me  in  the  face. 

I  extricate  myself  from  the  past  and  the  threat  of 
the  future. 


[76] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


II 


Somewhere  in  me  there  has  been  confusion  of 
identity.  I  do  not  know  my  own  name.  I  do 
not  know  if  I  am  marshglow  or  wormwort, 
daffodil  or  purslane. 

Once  I  thought  maybe  it  was  lily,  or  rose,  or 
starmist. 

I  have  lost  the  words  of  the  grasses  and  the  friend 
liness  of  the  trees.  The  leaves  do  not  speak 
to  me.  The  birds  do  not  call  my  name. 

I  have  lost  the  plains  and  the  feel  of  world  spaces. 
I  have  lost  God.  Have  I  lost  the  antennae  by 
which  I  can  feel  my  way  back  to  Him? 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


III 


I  moan  with  the  pain  of  my  thoughts,  remembering 
how  I  might  have  blossomed  as  stars. 

I  might  have  brushed  the  very  gates  of  heaven  in 
my  flight,  but  I  flew  low  over  moors  and 
morasses,  and  the  poisoned  everglades  of 
being. 

But  I  am  the  militant  of  life.  I  come  with  clenched 
spiritual  fists,  screaming  my  protest  to  the 
Creative  Force,  seeking  the  interpretation, 
straining  to  translate,  to  grasp  the  elusive 
meaning  of  me. 

Mine  is  no  facile  accouchement.  It  is  in  the  moan 
ing  of  the  spirit.  But  I  shall  not  mind  that  I 
am  racked  and  torn  if  something  new  may  be 
born  out  of  the  depths  to  supersede  this  mon 
ster. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


IV 

I  know  by  the  hunger  that  eats  at  my  heart  that 
there  is  a  fulfilling  answer.  I  know  by  the 
great  misery  of  life  that  there  must  be  its 
antithesis — a  great  joy.  I  am  come  with  a 
craving  as  deep  as  worlds. 

I  am  a  wolf  that  sits  back  on  its  haunches  in  the 
night,  at  the  edge  of  the  wilderness,  and  wails, 
— a  cry  for  its  own  that  is  unanswered.  May 
be  I  am  a  wolf-dog.  Maybe  the  wolf  in  me 
wails,  and  the  dog  in  me  answers  with  a  moan, 
rent  by  contending  forces. 


[79] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


Beautiful  world!  I  see  you.  One  day  I  shall  com 
prehend  you.  When  life  comes  by  in  trap 
pings  and  state,  I  shall  no  longer  be  the 
beggar  at  the  gate.  I  shall  be  the  lord  that 
receives  you. 

Wondrous  life!  And  we  allow  it  to  become  so 
marred.  We  maim  it  in  its  young  limbs,  and 
render  it  unpliant  in  its  lithe  soul. 

How  life  would  touch  us  with  fond  caress,  and  our 
cold  hands  but  chill  her. 

We  shout  at  her.  It  may  be  if  we  would  whisper 
she  would  hear.  Her  soul  is  not  attuned  to 
raucous  sound. 


[80] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


VI 

Life  is  beautiful,  only  we  haven't  known  how  to 
keep  it  radiant  and  rosy-cheeked  and  lovely. 
We  have  allowed  it  to  become  sickly,  with 
green  and  ashen  hue. 

We  do  not  know  how  to  accept  life.  There  is  the 
Gracious  Giver,  the  gracious  gift,  and  the 
gracious  receiver.  We  have  not  grace  to  re 
ceive,  nor  grace  to  contain.  Clumsy  of  soul, 
we  do  not  know  how  to  open  our  hearts  like 
the  flowers  that  receive  the  dew,  nor  lean  like 
the  leaves  when  the  breeze  would  kiss  them. 
There  are  dawns  to  which  we  never  open,  and 
singing  winds  to  which  our  breasts  are  dumb. 
There  are  rare  places  of  the  soul,  but  we 
never  go  with  urge  and  fleetness. 


rsn 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


VII 

I  shall  yet  come  to  accept  life  for  the  thing  I  have 
pronounced  it  to  be. 

Life  is  dragging,  but  I  shall  yet  lift  it  up,  I  shall 
carry  it  aloft  buoyantly.  I  shall  no  longer 
bear  this  weight  on  my  back,  this  weight  of 
my  own  accretion,  these  meaningless  tons  of 
myself,  stooped  and  leaden-footed,  old  with 
out  age  or  wisdom. 

Truth  is  light  of  foot  like  a  fawn,  not  heavy  like 
lead.  It  is  young  with  the  spirit  of  youth,  but 
we  bend  it  with  weight  in  its  still  young  years. 


[82] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


VIII 

And  there  are  myriads  more  who  have  lost  the  look 
of  peace  and  wear  the  tensed  look  of  fear  and 
misgiving,  who  trail  their  heavy  lives  as  a 
convict  drags  his  ball  and  chain,  wearing  the 
grey  prison  pallor,  and  looking  away  with 
lusterless,  longing  eyes  to  the  green  fields  of 
being. 

Can  one  deal  with  realities  that  are  not  shaken  with 

sobs  and  wet  with  tears? 
Sorrow  is  beautiful,  but  what  if  it  is  menace? 
One  can  glorify  pain,  but  what  if  it  is  a  mistaken 

endurance? 


[83] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


IX 

I  cannot  evade  or  ignore  the  unanswering.  It 
prods  me  like  a  sharp  steel.  My  soul  will  not 
accept  indifference.  I  have  but  one  life  to 
live  that  I  know  of,  and  that  must  yet  come  to 
me  that  will  lift  me  up,  and  out,  and  over, 
and  beyond,  away  from  myself  of  limitations, 
into  my  better,  bigger  self,  and  lofty  spaces. 

What  avail  to  bear  great  loads  of  life,  if  one  comes 
only  to  believe  that  every  back  in  the  world 
is  bent  from  its  burden? 

What  avail  the  stalwart  soul,  if  there  are  only 
anemic  conquests? 


[84] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


I  will  write  it  all  over  my  life  "Risen  again!" 
I  form  a  new  alliance  with  the  Militant  God  of 

Survival. 
God  has  been  cheated,  I  have  been  cheated,  and 

life  has  been  traduced. 
I  will  stand  with  the  past  beneath  my  feet. 


[85] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XI 

I  will  let  God  flow  unimpeded  through  me.  Un 
impeded  through  me!  A  channel  choked  with 
a  lifetime  of  debris,  of  wrecked  and  broken 
years,  tangled  hours  and  intentions.  Not 
room  for  God,  not  room  for  me! 

I  will  clear  away  all  impediment  that  hinders  the 
free-flowing  of  God  in  my  life.  He  shall  be 
as  unrestricted  rivers. 

What  have  I  interposed  between  God  and  myself? 
I  will  tear  it  down  as  I  would  tear  down  a 
Wall  between  me  and  the  sun.  No  thing  has 
reason  for  being  that  stands  between  me  and 
Him.  I  will  not  embrace  that  which  I  can 
not  lay  at  His  feet,  which  I  cannot  bring  to 
His  door  for  admittance,  no  matter  how  for 
midable  may  be  its  dispersing,  no  matter  how 
fatal. 


[86] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XII 

I  was  meant  to  be  woman-the-joyous,  but  I  carry 
in  my  heart  a  thousand  centuries  of  pain. 

I  was  meant  to  be  woman-the-radiant,  but  my  eyes 
tell  a  world-old  story. 

I  was  born  to  be  glad.  That  thing  has  no  sacred- 
ness,  and  I  owe  it  no  respect,  that  leaves  me 
leaden,  and  heavy,  and  old. 

There  is  time  for  gladness,  there  is  reason  for 
joy,  and  I  mean  to  discover  them. 

Life  is  not  by  this  struggle  to  death,  rather  than 
to  life,  this  annihilating  that  should  be  an 
establishing. 

This  destruction  that  we  permit  through  our  own 
unenlightenment,  this  gnarled  and  knotted  be 
ing,  this  life  bound  to  its  pack,  is  not  of  God. 
It  is  of  you,  or  it  is  of  me.  God  gave  us  time 
to  live,  but  we  have  so  distorted  it  that  we 
have  only  time  to  perish. 


[87] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XIII 

Labor  is  saving,  but  drudgery  has  damned  my 
soul,  the  task  without  the  illumination.  It 
eats  at  life.  It  devours  the  vitals.  It  leaves 
one  insensate,  save  to  weariness.  What  will 
it  bring  that  will  atone  for  that  which  it  takes 
away?  Where  are  the  buoyancy  and  resili 
ence?  There  are  only  the  sodden,  yellow- 
white  features  of  drivenness,  of  eternal 
hurrying. 

My  hands  are  hard,  but  my  soul  is  still  in  bondage. 
If  the  breaking  of  the  body  availed  anything, 
that  would  be  its  justification,  but  it  avails 
nothing.  That  is  the  rebuke  of  it. 

I  will  work  in  the  calm  application  of  my  soul, 
and  I  shall  see  mountains  give  way,  and  seas 
turned  in  their  course. 

I  will  be  about  my  real  task,  that  work  that  is  a 
privilege,  not  an  infliction,  not  a  penance, — 
the  work  that  I  love,,  and  the  work  that  loves 
me! 


[88] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XIV 

I  will  demand  of  myself  those  things  that  take  the 
measure  of  my  possibilities. 

Too  long  I  have  been  chimney-sweep  of  life,  when 
I  might  have  been  sweeping  the  Stardust  of 
Heaven. 

If  one  becomes  the  expression  of  one's  dominant 
thought,  have  I  thought  dish-water  or  dew, 
scullery  pans  or  roses?  Do  I  abide  by  my 
kitchens,  or  by  my  fields?  Do  I  think  my 
narrow  human  life,  or  do  I  sometimes  think 
God? 


[89] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XV 

Am  I  the  victim  of  misplaced  zeal,  of  misdirected 
force  and  energy?  I  dig  and  sweat  in  the 
furrows,  when  there  are  sky-furrows  awaiting 
the  kiss  of  my  plow's  bright  steel.  There  is 
the  sowing  of  the  seed  of  life  and  eternity. 
There  is  possibility  of  star-harvest,  of  garner 
of  glory  and  gleam. 

I  have  been  the  self-appointed  scullion  of  the 
world,  washing  the  pots  and  pans  of  the  uni 
verse.  If  it  were  the  limit  that  I  could  do, 
then  would  it  be  my  divine  task.  But  it  is  not 
the  limit,  and  therein  lies  the  inexcusableness 
and  shame. 

I  have  gone  courageously  to  my  alien  task,  but 
there  is  one  in  me  that  weeps.  I  have  assented 
to  all  the  denial  of  the  way,  but  that  one  lifts 
up  her  insurgent  head.  I  have  said  "Yes," 
but  I  have  seen  her  eyes  flash  fire  as  she 
answered  "Never!" 


[90] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XVI 

Am  I  afraid  to  be  beautiful?     Afraid  to  claim 

grace  as  my  own? 
I  will  take  away  the  look  of  ashes,  and  restore  the 

look  of  dawn. 


[91] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XVII 

What  if  I  have  done  everything  but  the  one  thing? 
What  if  I  have  worked  all  around  it?  It  may 
be  I  have  built  houses  and  caused  fields  to 
grow,  when  mine  was  to  build  a  feldspar 
cabin.  That  was  my  peculiar  task.  And  not 
until  I  build  my  feldspar  cabin!  Not  until 
that  hour!  Not  until  then! 

I  have  minded  spigots,  when  it  was  mine  to  tend 
the  seas. 

I  have  put  my  arms  around  the  finite,  when  it  was 
mine  to  reach  out  with  my  long  embrace  and 
include  the  infinite  everything. 


[92] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XVIII 

I  have  erred  so  unremittingly  in  my  fallacious 
conception  of  utility.  I  will  look  upon  the 
rose  gardens  whose  use  is  beauty.  Utilities? 
Did  I  not  know  that  roses  were  of  the  utilities 
of  life? 

I  knew  that  I  must  plant  my  fields  to  save  my  body, 
but  did  I  not  know  that  I  must  plant  my  rose 
gardens  to  save  my  soul? 

Shall  I  stitch  and  stitch  that  my  flesh  may  be  cov 
ered,  and  leave  no  time  for  the  weaving  of 
fabric  for  my  shivering  spirit? 

Shall  I  supply  the  fuel  of  my  flesh,  and  allow  my 
soul's  fires  to  be  extinguished? 

Is  it  more  vital  that  I  eat  than  that  I  have  ecstasy? 
Shall  I  not  more  surely  perish  from  lack  of 
rapture  than  from  lack  of  bread? 


[93] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XIX 

Do  I  not  know  that  beauty  is  all-healing?  That  a 
breath  of  lavender  will  restore  me?  That 
one  hyacinth  pressed  to  my  breast  will  renew 
the  flesh  and  the  faith? 

I  will  come  with  great  draughts  of  remedy  for  my 
spirit!  Turn  on  the  roses!  Turn  on  the 
mignonette!  Open  the  spigots  of  the  trumpet- 
flowers!  Draw  from  the  azalea!  Divert  the 
poppy-streams  to  me,  and  the  flow  of  the 
locust's  exotic  breath,  for  I  am  body-ill  from 
the  endless  flow  of  life's  drab-grey! 

Tap  the  reservoirs  of  the  tuberoses!  Bind  up  my 
spirit  with  their  efflorescence,  for  my  body's 
sake! 

Bathe  me!  Inundate  me!  Baptize  me!  Let  me 
be  renewed! 

I  need  not  unguent  but  joy!  For  the  healing  of  my 
body  let  my  soul  swoon! 


[94] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


I  have  set  out  to  grow  in  possessions — the  posses 
sion  of  myself.  One  day  I  shall  count  my 
holdings,  and  they  will  include  me,  big, 
round,  significant  me. 

I  will  make  a  new  institution  of  being,  the  institu 
tion  of  loyalty  to  myself,  and  the  God  whose 
instrument  I  am. 


[95] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXI 

The  things  that  are  young  and  fresh  and  buoyant, 
where  are  they? 

Did  I  not  use  to  sing  at  morn?  Had  I  not  gladness 
to  greet  the  day?  Where  did  I  lay  them 
down,  and  is  it  too  far  to  go  back?  Too  far 
to  return  to  the  spirit  of  youth  and  the  young 
things  of  joy? 

I  am  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream.  Where  are  the 
water  and  the  verdure,  the  green  hanging 
banks?  The  dipping  willows,  where  are  they 
for  me?  By  what  process  am  I  dry,  and 
bare,  and  vacant?  How  have  I  drained  the 
waters  and  dried  up  the  green? 

I  am  drained  dry  by  the  huge,  blood-sucking  ten 
tacles  of  being,  but  I  shall  yet  be  restored  to 
the  font  of  the  juices  of  life.  I  have  a  right 
to  be  watered  abundantly.  I  have  a  right  to 
be  green  and  living. 


[96] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXII 

I  am  the  starved  hound  of  being,  following  an 
endless  trail,  day  upon  day  spent  in  coursing, 
night  upon  night  exhausted  by  the  chase. 


[97] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXIII 

One  day  I  shall  have  the  feeling  that  I  have 
arrived,  after  many  wandering,  alien  years. 

I  shall  reach  that  point  in  life  where  Life  will  not 
resist,  but  will  acquiesce,  will  wish  to  be  for 
me,  will  respond  to  my  touch  and  my  yearn 
ing,  will  be  friendly  and  pleased.  I  shall 
no  longer  be  stranger,  but  kin,  and  she  will 
be  glad  of  me.  She  will  open  her  gates  and 
let  me  in. 


[98] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXIV 

I  will  release  all  the  confined  forces  of  my  soul 
and  apply  them  directly  to  that  which  I  may 
be. 

I  will  release  all  my  thousand  possibilities  and 
send  them  broadside  against  life. 

No  more  shall  the  performance  know  the  unfaith. 
No  longer  shall  the  structure  know  the  un 
certain  hand. 

My  life  shall  possess  me.  I  shall  come  mad  as  the 
Mullah  about  it. 


[99] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXV 

One  day  I  shall  command  the  fertility  that  will 
cover  all  the  waste  places. 

I  of  the  great  dearth  will  come  with  the  great  full 
ness. 

My  soul  is  prolific;  let  it  press  on,  changing  water 
into  wine,  and  the  bare  stem  of  me  into  the 
blossoming  rod  of  Aaron. 


[100] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXVI 

I  tried  to  sweat  my  life  into  beauty,  and  then  one 
day  I  thought  I  would  sit  me  down  in  the  fur 
rows.  I  would  stop  the  wheels  long  enough 
to  enlist  God.  I  would  stop  the  mad  rush 
that  hour,  that  moment,  and  sit  me  down  and 
pray. 

I  would  come  with  tranquillity,  with  repose  of  the 
flesh,  with  the  institution  of  easement  and 
peace.  I  would  come  with  the  thought,  the 
thrill,  that  would  make  dead  eyes  quiver  and 
dead  flesh  start.  I  would  lift  with  my  yearn 
ing  that  which  I  could  not  lift  with  my  arms. 
The  potency  of  my  prayer  would  be  mightier 
than  brawn  and  swifter  than  feet.  I  had 
trudged — now  I  would  sit  me  down  and  pray 
for  the  chariot  out  of  the  sky. 


[101] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXVII 

The  arid  country!  I  look  out  over  the  sagebrush 
plain,  panting  and  parched,  and  sense  its  long 
thirst  for  the  rain.  I  wonder  if  its  heart 
breaks  because  the  streams  of  life  are  parched 
and  dry,  that  no  cooling  shade  fosters,  and 
no  succulent  green  saves?  Does  its  soul 
stifle  when  the  hot  winds  blow  and  the  burning 
sands  beat  down? 

Is  its  throat  cracked  and  aching  in  the  alkali  heat? 
Does  it  know  a  yearning  as  deep  as  death  for 
the  sound  of  a  purling  stream? 

V 


^   J  1  'V 

SH  * 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXVIII 


To  come  always  with  wistful  longing  to  possess 
life,  to  fold  her  to  my  breast,  to  feel  her  kiss 
and  her  warm  breath,  to  hear  her  say  "My 
lover  has  come!" 

She  will  yet  open  her  arms  to  receive  me.  She 
will  come  as  a  lover  to  my  burning  lips,  and 
speak  in  love's  language. 

I  shall  measure  to  her  stature  and  her  yearning. 
I  shall  know  that  I  am  loved  and  wanted. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXIX 

My  garden  shall  yet  hang  heavy  with  tardy  bloom. 
I  shall  pluck  the  fig  in  its  late  ripeness.  The 
sumac  will  crimson  for  me  in  the  frost  of  the 
fall.  I  shall  gather  wild  grapes  in  their  em 
purpling,  and  come  with  wild  hops  torn  from 
the  tops  of  frost-touched  trees. 

I  shall  gather  myself  in  great,  ripe,  yellow  sheaves 
of  me,  in  great  clusters  of  maturity. 


[104] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXX 

I  work  to  free  myself,  but  I  know  how  much  more 
that  is  than  to  free  myself.  I  cannot  adjust 
my  own  life  without  adjusting  the  harmonies 
of  the  universe.  When  I  have  grasped  the 
endless  rhythm,  I  have  also  opened  it  to  end 
less  appropriation. 


[105] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


sembled  bits  of  life.  I  possess  only  a  fraction 
of  life  because  I  possess  only  a  fraction  of 
myself. 

One  day  I  shall  come  in  entirety — maybe  the  en 
tirety  will  redeem  the  parts.  I  shall  come  in 
the  aggregate  of  me,  and  maybe  that  that  has 
not  had  seeming  relativity  will  show  sequence. 


I  demand  that  life  assemble,  that  it  command  itself 
out  of  atoms,  that  it  come  full-formed,  articu 
late,  accented  of  being. 

«^      •- 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


If  I  can  but  establish  the  truth  of  me! 

I  go  in  conquest  up  and  down  the  earth,  when  I 

\must  know  that  the  thing  must  be  wrested  out/" 
of  my  own  soul. 

I  go  here  and  there,  giving  accent  to  this  and  to 
that,  when  it  is  the  unspoken,  inarticulate  I 
that  is  the  torment.    It  is  I  struggling  to  tear  *.y«A- 
myself  from  the  folds  and  the  coverings. 

The  answer  is  in  me,  or  it  is  nowhere.  I  do  not 
come  asking  you.  I  ask  only  myself.  If  it 
were  in  you,  you  could  not  impart  it  to  me.  I 

/       could  not  understand  your  words. 

' 

I  must  bring  the  answer  and  the  interpretation 
of  me.    Until  then  I  must  go  unanswered. 


t 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXIII 

I  will  become  too  big  for  unmeaning  things.  I 
will  unfetter  me  from  abnormal  desires.  I 
will  be  freed  into  a  comprehension  of  sim 
plicity. 

I  will  accord  my  life  to  a  few  simple  elements. 
Once  more  I  will  be  a  pine  standing  tall  and 
straight  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  with  the  stars 
twinkling  through  my  branches,  and  not  a 
pine  reset  from  its  native  soil,  hung  with 
tinsel  baubles  and  colored  lights. 

I  will  cast  off  the  folds  and  layers  of  intricacy  and 
confusion,  and  come  forth  in  my  naked  life 
and  soul.  I  shall  come  humbled  at  last,  a 
radiant  thine  in  illumined  bareness. 

I  will  emerge  from  the  maze  of  being  and  come 
forth  under  the  open  sky. 

I  who  have  had  the  fireflies  will  have  the  stars. 


[108] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXIV 

I  am  seeking  me,  and  what  if  I  find  you,  my  uni 
versal  brother! 

I  ask  no  thing  for  myself  in  which  you  are  not 
included.  When  I  pray  for  me,  it  is  for  the 
dual  me,  you  and  me.  When  I  work,  it  is  for 
hoth  of  us.  I  may  seem  to  be  doing  the  thing 
for  myself,  but  I  am  doing  it  for  all  who  can 
realize  the  thrill  of  attainment,  of  action  and 
mastery. 

I  do  not  come  with  alms,  but  with  aims,  with  per 
formance,  with  the  benefaction  of  a  wrought 
life. 

I,  the  restorer  of  myself,  am  not  unconscious  of 
the  perishing  multitude.  For  you  and  for  me 
my  dumb  soul  finds  its  voice.  I  speak  the 
living  word  to  my  own  listening — and  your 
soul  hears.  I  come  proving  me — and  refute 
your  doubts  of  you. 


[109] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXV 

I  who  am  vapor  and  dust  will  organize  into  a 

world. 
I  will  drag  this  human  of  me  up  to  the  god-plane 

of  me,  and  it  shall  function  as  a  deity. 


[110] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXVI 

Life  came  past  my  door  and  I  did  not  know  how 
to  greet  it.  I  came  clumsily,  all  too  eager, 
like  a  starved  bird  in  the  snow.  I  wanted  to 
come  gently.  I  wanted  to  touch  it  lightly,  like 
one  touches  the  breast  of  a  dove. 

It  is  one's  hungry  soul  that  commits  absurdities. 
It  comes  always  stretching  its  yellow  beak  like 
a  starved  fledgling. 

One  day  I  shall  be  fed,  and  warm,  and  human.    I 

shall  be  restored  to  myself. 
I  shall  come  into  a  conscious  sense  of  life,  thrilling 

at  its  contact,  quivering  at  the  touch  of  its 

breath. 
I  shall  feel  it  deep  down  in  the  nerve  centers  of  my 

bones.    I  shall  taste  it.    I  shall  feed  upon  it. 

I  shall  feel  it  like  the  sting  of  bees. 
I  shall  know  the  sweet,  moist  flavor  of  me. 


[in] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXVII 

The  transient  passes  me  with  the  hour,  but  the 
fixed  things  are  with  my  approval.  Nothing 
becomes  an  institution  that  I  do  not  permit  it. 
Nothing  stays  that  is  not  tolerated.  The  thing 
that  stays  does  so  because  it  is  made  welcome. 
It  is  I  who  deny  it,  or  I  who  give  it  coun 
tenance. 

I  may  find  myself  in  the  midst  of  the  cackle  of 
fishwives,  or  in  the  circle  of  the  red  lives  of 
whores,  but  it  is  my  impotent  feet  that  do  not 
depart. 

I  may  pass  through  many  strange  lands  in  my  jour- 
neyings,  but  it  is  I  who  pitch  my  tent. 


[112] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXVIII 

It  is  not  sin  that  I  must  overcome — it  is  incomplete 
ness. 

I  will  yet  do  that  that  gives  new  curve  to  my  lips, 
that  leaves  its  reflection  in  my  hands  and  in 
my  carriage,  that  announces  itself  in  the 
quality  of  my  voice,  that  writes  itself  all  over 
me  unmistakably. 

I  will  come  with  directness  and  virility,  with  that 
of  which  there  can  be  no  doubt, — no  longer 
with  halfness,  no  longer  with  feeble  intent. 

My  offense  against  life  is  inarticulation,  inaccent. 
Never  to  have  spoken  out  round  and  clear! 
Never  to  have  struck  one,  round  full  note! 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XXXIX 

I  am  the  walled-in  sea.  One  day  I  shall  break  the 
mountain  of  rock  that  restrains  me.  I  shall 
beat  against  the  cliffs  until  they  crumble 
under  the  insistence  of  me. 

I  shall  come  in  the  might  of  unspent  force,  in  the 
sweep  of  mighty  assertion,  for  time,  and  for 
the  eternity  that  was  denied  me. 

My  surge  shall  be  as  the  voice  of  angry  peoples. 

My  spray  shall  reach  the  sky  in  protest.  The  cor 
morants  will  scream  in  fear  of  the  wrath  of 
me. 

I  shall  not  release  me  into  a  narrow  freedom.  It 
shall  be  as  copious  as  has  been  the  denial,  as 
endless  as  the  unfilled  yearning  of  me,  as  un 
broken  as  the  bonded  years. 


[114] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XL 

I  shall  know  the  long  road  that  stretches  like  a  grey 

highway  in  space. 
I  shall  be  unfurled  to  the  paths  that  undulate  to 

my  listing. 
I  shall  know  the  release.    I  shall  be  unbound  to  the 

day. 
My  soul  in  its  prison-grey  will  come  forth  in  the 

flush  of  colorful  life.     It  will  shed  its  grey 

cloak,  like  a  pall.    It  will  bury  its  dead  and 

disperse  the  funeral  from  out  its  conscious-  .J 

ness. 
I  will  not  die  of  four  walls  while  there  is  breath 

in  the  hills.    My  misery  is  born  under  a  roof, 

but  it  shall  perish  in  the  fields. 


[115] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLI 

I  will  hang  festoons  of  worlds  across  the  arch  of 

the  sky. 
I  will  come  with  God's  big  plan  of  things,  with 

spawn  of  time,  with  seed  of  eternity. 
I  will  live  the  free-hand  life — I  will  rise  up  at 

dawn,  and  with  sure,  unfaltering  faith,  create 

the  day. 
I  will  come  at  noon,  and  with  the  assurance  of  a 

master,  paint  the  heavens. 
I  will  come  at  night,  and  with  the  confidence  of 

one  who  cannot  fail,  hang  a  million  stars  in 

the  sky. 

You  will  look  at  my  life  and  know  that  a  master- 
hand  has  builded. 


[116] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLII 

s 

I  will  have  the  feel  of  abundance  in  my  life,  if  it 
is  only  an  abundance  of  sunshine  and  leaves 
and  grasses. 

The  look  of  poverty  and  woe  is  not  an  outer  con 
dition  that  I  put  on  like  a  garment,  but  an 

_^-inner  condition  that  I  exude  with  my  breath. 

I  will  come  like  roses  in  their  prolific  season,  like 
cherry  blossoms  in  May,  like  fields  where 
countless  daisies  grow. 

I  will  come  with  the  prodigal  profusion  of  life, 
like  a  hawthorn  copse,  or  an  orchard  of 
peach-blow;  like  a  bank  of  sweetbrier,  or  a 
cliffside  of  wild  nasturtium. 

I  will  scatter  myself  over  the  earth,  life's  caster 
of  seed. 

I  will  flow  through  the  fluid  channels  like  a  stream. 
I  am  the  alluvium,  the  overflow.  I  come  to 
enrich  wastes.  That  that  was  barren  in  the 


back-beyond-time  I  vegetate. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLIII 

I  fertilize  great,  barren  wastes  of  me  into  a  yield 
ing  abundance. 

I  reset  the  stakes  of  my  courage.  I  incorporate 
great  untraveled  areas. 

Today  I  am  the  shepherd  minding  the  sheep,  but 
tomorrow  mine  shall  be  the  cattle  on  a  thou 
sand  hills  of  my  spirit. 

I  who  have  lived  and  died  of  yearning  shall  be  de 
livered. 

I  who  have  been  of  feeble  stroke  will  come  with 
unmistakable  beat. 


[118] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


s: 


X. 


y 

4? 


XLIV 

I  shall  realize  life  in  great  throes  of  being.  I  shall 
feel  worlds  born  within  me. 

I  shall  know  the  bursting  of  craters,  and  great  up 
heavals  like  mountains  heaved  up  out  of  the 
sea. 

I  shall  know  the  great  elation,  the  rising  like  swell 
ing  tides;  that  life  is  bursting — the  dykes  give 
way;  the  ecstasy  of  an  escaping  ocean. 

I  shall  know  the  big  thrills,  like  torn  precipices, 
like  gashes  rent  in  the  earth,  like  avalanches 
toppling. 

who  have  been  so  cramped  and  small,  without 
room  to  breathe  or  be, — and  the  world  such 
a  big,  big  world,  but  my  assertive  power  so 
small! 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLV 

The  myriad  things  that  are  mine,  had  I  but  the 
capacity  to  contain  them.  Wherein  have  I 
made  room  for  the  firmament,  for  forests  and 
hills,  for  the  flood  and  recession  of  seas? 
Where  room  for  humanity's  coursing? 
Where  my  farflung  space  for  horizons? 
Where  my  comprehension,  my  vast  inclusive- 
ness? 

The  paucity  of  life  is  not  in  the  things,  but  in  me. 
Where  in  all  my  life  have  I  room  for  a 
friend?  For  the  stature  of  an  hour?  Room 
for  the  events  that  transpire?  For  the  puls 
ings  of  night  and  day? 

The  meagerness  is  in  my  own  being,  in  my  own 
incapacity  to  open  and  receive.  Life  is  rich 
and  abundant — I  am  the  sparsity. 

How  small  has  been  my  concept!  When  have  I 
seen  where  time  spawns,  where  stars  fructify, 
where  eternities  lie  in  swaddling  garments? 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLVI 

Have  I  expanded  to  meet  the  hills?  What  has  the 
out-of-doors  meant  to  me?  Something  to  be 
glimpsed  through  a  window?  Something  re 
mote?  Was  it  not  mine  to  open  to  it,  to  walk 
straight  into  it? 

When  have  I  walked  out  into  the  limitlessness  and 
taken  the  long  leads  that  led  'to  -everywhere? 
— I,  confined  by  narrow  tasks  and  perform 
ances.  Why  did  I  not  take 'them  out  where  I 
could  get  the  big  perspective  on  "them,  align 
them  with  distance? 

There  is  such  prodigality  in  the  abundance  and 
room  of  Nature,  and  such  meagerness  of  sup 
ply  and  space  in  me.  Where  are  my  long 
lanes  of  daisies,  my  long  banks  of  rue? 


[121] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLVII 

Where  is  my  lavish  counting?  When  have  I 
spread  great  areas  of  green  dotted  with  gold? 
When  have  I  come  sprinkling  hillsides  with  a 
violet  fragrance?  Where  is  my  prodigal 
hand,  I  so  mean  and  measured,  doling  life 
grudgingly?  Where  is  the  God  of  profusion 
in  me  that  spreads  whole  valleys  of  haw 
thorn  bloom?  That  hangs  a  million  wild 
roses  over  an  embankment  to  show  His  scale 
of  computing?  That  flings  a  million  prim 
roses  from  the  sky,  and  scorns  to  count  the 
arbutus?  Where  is  my  outpouring  soul? 
When  did  I  come  ravishing  life  with  a  wild 
riot  of  bloom?  When  did  I  come  with  easy 
luxuriance? — I  entered  into  voluntary  de 
crepitude. 

A  prodigal  God  smiles  at  the  paucity  of  my  beggar 
life! 


[122] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLVIII 

Life  is  bare  because  we  never  plant  it  with  seed. 

We  never  till  its  long  rows,  never  come  with 

husbandly  of  spirit. 
If  I  wanted  to  sail  the  high  seas,  why  did  I  not 

build  a  sea-going  life? 
I  wanted  the  scream  of  the  petrel  in  the  storm,  yet 

where  was  that  in  me  that  did  not  fear  being 

lashed  to  a  mast? 
I  lay  hawsered  to  a  fear,  yet  complained  that  I 

did  not  have  the  experiences  that  come  to 

courage  and  daring. 


[123] 


1 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XLIX 

If  I  might  bring  one  orchid  out  of  my  soul,  one 

frail  narcissus,  one  hair  fern! 
If  I  might  bring  out  of  its  sensitized  soil  one  tinted 

petal,    one    delicate   tendril,    one    gossamer 

tracery  of  leaf! 
What  in  all  my  striving  days  do  I  bring  forth  like 

the  grace  of  a  single  wilding  rose?     Or  like 

syringa  that  grows  rank  with  beauty  and  life, 

without  strife  or  strain? 
Shall  I  ever  bring  forth  on  the  stalk  of  my  life  one 

thing  that  will  not  be  shamed  by  the  salvia? 
Shall  I  ever  have  a  single  hour  like  the  burst  of 

God's  unnumbered  dawns  of  day? 
Shall  I  ever  bring  forth  in  all  the  years  of  my 

barren  being  like  the  verdure  that  grows  with 

ease  on  the  sides  of  high  hills? 


<^N 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


I  have  set  out,  not  to  surpass  you,  but  to  add  cubits 
to  my  own  strength,  to  go  beyond  my  present 
cognizance,  to  come  upon  a  new  me;  to  un 
cover  the  things  that  have  long  threatened  in 
the  burning  of  me;  to  open  to  the  things  that 
have  long  beat  with  their  insistence  at  my 
door. 

I  do  not  wish  to  surpass  anyone  or  anything.  I 
pray  only  to  outgrow  myself  in  emancipation 
and  consciousness. 

I  stipulate  nothing,  save  that  I  grow.  Not  this 
thing  must  be  dragged  along,  nor  that  thing 
carried  on  the  way.  I  know  the  price  and  I 
will  pay.  I  do  not  ask  that  my  heart  shall  not 
break.  I  do  not  ask  that  another  may  not 
mourn.  I  ask  only  that  I  grow,  and  I  accept 
all  on  that  basis. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


^ 


11, 
Hu 


LI 


^ 


have  admitted  all  the  outcast,  the  downtrodden, 
the  underfoot.  One  day  I  shall  be  able  to 
admit  the  snob,  the  blueblood,  the  aristocrat, 
and  all  the  pretenders  in  the  world. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LII 


Why  mind  your  scorn? — I  scorn  myself. 

Maybe  I  am  approaching  a  little  nearer  if  you  look 
at  me  and  condemn,  and  I  look  upon  your 
condemnation  'with  indifference. 

Maybe  I  am  coming  somewhat  into  possession  if  I 
am  no  longer  concerned  with  your  attitude  or 
mood.  If  I  am  not  distracted  by  hissings, 
there  is  hope  that  I  would  not  be  by  plaudits. 

Why  ask  your  acceptance,  when  I  have  never  had 
my  own?  Your  approval  might  mean  not 
much,  while  mine  would  mean  consciousness 
of  growth,  of  effacement  and  eradication.  It 
would  mean  victorious  struggle  and  conquest. 
It  would  mean  overcoming,  consciousness  of 
transcendency.  It  would  mean  things  at 
tained,  and  things  crushed  beneath  my  feet. 

Your  acceptance  might  come  lightly  with  its  touch 
and  go,  but  mine  would  be  as  the  rolling  of 
time,  as  ponderous  unfurlments,  as  prophe 
cies  fulfilled. 


[127] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LIII 

If  I  would  but  respond  to  life!  How  she  presents 
herself  in  a  thousand  phases,  and  I  sit  un 
moved,  like  some  defective  staring  into  space. 

How  she  would  entice  me,  how  she  would  ravish, 
how  she  would  enthrall,  were  I  not  dead  in  the 
nerve-centers  of  my  soul. 

Life  does  not  die,  but  I  do.  The  fields  are  pulsing, 
the  hills  are  alive.  It  is  I  who  am  insensate. 
The  beat  of  life  stops  within  me,  and  I  think 
the  world  is  dead. 

The  world  is  enticing,  and  beautiful,  and  warm, 
and  welcoming,  and  soft — it  is  only  I  that  am 
frozen  at  the  heart. 


[128] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LIV 

Shall  the  puritan  of  me  require  that  I  don  my 
purple  mantles? 

Shall  the  ploughboy  demand  that  the  prince  capitu 
late? 

Shall  God's  white-eyed  daisies  decry  His  gorgeous 
dawns  of  day? 

Shall  the  marshglow  denounce  the  concourse  of 
stars? 


[129] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LV 


I  will  come  deliberately  to  the  day.  I  will  stand 
and  look  a  long  time  upon  it,  with  no  sign  of 
unease. 

I  will  be  confidently  about  it.  I  will  come  to  it 
tranquilly  poised,  with  the  utmost  composure. 

I  will  approach  it  possessed  of  myself — it  shall 
not  disconcert  me. 

There  is  no  haste  and  no  hurry.  There  is  only 
deliberateness  of  action. 

My  soul  shall  come  quietly  forth  in  its  God- 
assurance  and  procedure,  complacent,  unper 
turbed,  with  slow,  sure  step,  calmly  to  the 
morning  and  to  the  setting  sun,  quietly  into 
action,  softly  like  falling  leaves,  like  envelop 
ing  vapors. 

^ 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LVI 

The  nightingales  came  to  my  window  and  I  did  not 
heed.  Now  they  have  flown  away  into  the 
deep  wood,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here  in  the 
deep  wood  of  my  life,  looking  for  my  lost 
hirds  that  sing. 

I  was  insensate  to  the  roses.  Then  one  day  the 
winter  was  upon  me,  and  I  came  frantically 
imploring  my  June,  my  lost  opportunity  to 
comprehend. 

I  will  take  a  little  more  time  out  of  life  to  live — 
one  hour  for  the  dawn,  and  one  for  the  eve 
ning,  and  one  for  the  singing  fields;  one  rose 
hour  for  the  gardens,  and  one  to  set  my  feet 
on  the  crest  of  hills. 

Against  the  glitter  of  dew  and  the  light  of  stars, 
the  feel  of  the  hills  and  the  call  of  the 
meadows,  I  will  measure  my  petty  day.  I 
will  put  these  into  the  scale  against  the  endless 
round.  I  will  compute.  I  will  know  wherein 
lie  values. 


[131] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LVH 

Days  upon  days  shall  be  cast  into  the  incinerator. 
I  shall  destroy  the  unmeaning  and  the  un 
meant.  I  shall  render  them  to  ash,  to  white, 
harmless  ash  and  a  memory. 

I  shall  have  real  issues  to  confront.  There  shall 
be  happenings  in  my  days.  Things  shall 
come  to  pass.  There  shall  be  conflicts  and 
decisions.  There  shall  be  loves  and  hates  and 
burnings. 

Life  diverse!  Its  divergent  realities!  I  shall  have 
the  experiences  of  beauty,  and  the  experi 
ences  of  love,  and  the  experiences  of  strength. 
I  shall  have  that  that  can  come  to  me  only 
through  the  grace  of  my  body,  and  that  that 
can  come  to  me  only  through  the  warmth  of 
my  breast,  and  that  that  comes  through  the 
granite  pillars  of  me. 

I  shall  have  incantations,  and  lullabies,  and  martial 
music. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


-  1 
. 


LVIII 

So  much  there  is  in  life  that  is  excrement,  that  is 
effete.  I  will  cleanse  the  channels  of  their 
putridity,  the  arteries  of  their  fever.  I  will 
cause  cleansing  waters  to  pour  and  cool  winds 
to  blow. 

I  will  bring  the  health  of  simplicity  to  my  bur 
dened  soul  and  days. 

I  will  leave  this  hall  of  dead  bones,  and  come  to 
my  bare,  board  table,  with  its  flavor  of  God. 

I  will  scourge  the  money-changers  out  of  the 
temples  of  my  life. 

I  will  drive  the  hosts  from  out  my  soul  that  have 


\ 


come  with  camp  and  flocks  and  pitched  their 
tents.  I  will  drive  them  beyond  the  border 
of  my  consciousness,  with  only  dead  camp- 
fires  to  remind  me,  and  the  outgoing  marks 
of  feet. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


' 


^> 

\i 

,  «—\, 
<Tx 


LIX 

How  can  I  interpret  inaudible  directions?  How 
can  my  soul  hear  in  the  clamoring  and  the 
din? 

I  have  wanted  the  soft  music  of  evening  shadows, 
but  there  is  a  hurdy-gurdy  playing  in  my 
days. 

I  have  wanted  the  soft  echoes  of  pipes  from  the 
hills,  but  there  is  a  rasping  trumpet  sounding. 

I  have  come  blatantly,  beating  the  gongs  of  life. 
One  day  I  shall  come  quietly,  in  the  humility 
of  my  great  and  wondrous  soul.  I  who  have 
beaten  only  tom-toms  shall  come  thrumming 
the  sweet  lyre  of  being. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LX 


I  cannot  dream  beauty  and  express  ugliness, — the 
concept  of  roses  must  bring  forth  radiance. 

The  consciousness  of  the  light  imprisoned  in  pearls 
must  bring  forth  a  colorful,  dancing  vibrance. 

The  inner  rapture,  like  the  fine  gold  feeling  of  the 
Nebulae,  must  express  itself  in  stars. 

I  who  think  beauty  must  come  with  it  exuding  from 
me  like  a  fragrant  nimbus. 

If  I  conceive  beauty,  I  must  walk  in  loveliness. 

If  I  conceive  twilights,  I  must  manifest  in  threno 
dies,  and  the  jasmine's  breath,  with  a  silver, 
moonswept  sheen. 


Nv 


.... 


[135] 
*S       "Vi 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


\> 


LXI 

Again  and  again  we  cry  "I  can  bear  no  more!" — 
that  is  the  human  of  us.  And  again  and  again 
we  bear  more, — that  is  the  god  of  us. 


j   " 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXII 

One  day  the  hour  will  strike;  it  will  call  to  me  to 
arise,  and  what  if  my  unused  limbs  shall  fail 
me? 

It  will  call  to  the  swift  and  the  fleet,  to  him  of  used 
and  practised  strength,  but  how  shall  I  re 
spond,  I  so  cramped  and  complaining  through 
the  years? 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXHI 

Action! — that  one  stupendous  word  I  will  translate 
into  my  soul. 

My  days  shall  be  peopled.  There  shall  be  run 
nings  to  and  fro,  and  chatterings.  There  shall 
be  pistons  sounding,  and  the  whirr  of  wheels. 
There  shall  be  busy  days'  endings,  with  reck 
onings  and  summings-up. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXIV 

To  accouche  a  thought,  to  give  birth  to  an  era  or 
mark  a  time,  to  leave  one's  footprints  on  a 
century! 

To  put  a  new  circle  around  life,  to  add  a  new  coun 
try,  or  a  new  hill,  or  a  new  tree! 

To  be  an  explorer  of  life,  and  come  with  news  from 
the  far  zone  of  the  soul,  with  a  new  hope,  a 
new  peace,  a  new  joy,  a  new  meaning! 

To  plant  a  standard  on  a  hill,  to  leave  a  record 
buried  under  a  rock! 


[139] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXV 

Let  Life  show  the  ship  I  have  huilt,  the  hill  I  have 
leveled,  the  new  boundary  I  set  upon  the 
plain,  the  new  cubit  I  added  to  truth.  Let 
these  show  in  the  fiber  of  me,  in  my  face  and 


' 


• 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXVI 

There  was  a  time  when  life  had  the  look  of  a 
smooth,  unbroken,  virgin  prairie,  the  look  of 
a  slim  girl,  but  now  it  has  the  deep  lines  of 
life,  of  child-bearing,  of  much  parturition. 
It  is  heavy  and  seamed  with  living,  like  soil 
with  the  marks  of  the  share.  It  has  the  look 
of  much  bringing  forth,  the  mother-look  of 
much  brooding  and  attendant  care. 

It  is  no  longer  youth  with  the  maiden  look  in  its 
eyes — it  is  maturity  bearing  its  pack. 


[141] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXVII 

Do  I  forget  how  to  be  glad,  how  to  feel  the  sun  and 
the  grasses,  how  to  romp  with  the  winds  and 
laugh  with  the  trees?  Do  I  comprehend  the 
rejoicing  hills  and  admit  them?  Does  the 
clamoring  sky  find  friend  in  me? 

I  come  heavy,  like  barnacled  ships.  No  longer 
lithe  and  light,  but  with  the  sediment  of  life 
set  in.  No  longer  doing  the  graceful  thing, 
but  heavy  and  obese. 

I  will  leave  it  there  where  it  pulled  me  down, 
the  heavy  accretion  of  the  years.  I  will  renew 
the  instinct  that  once  would  have  soared,  that 
would  have  winged  its  way  to  the  sky. 

Once  more  I  will  come  fine  and  thin,  attenuated. 

I  will  come  faintly  touching  the  tips  of  flowers. 
Life  that  has  become  hard  as  tendons  shall 
be  restored  to  its  gauze  and  its  filament.  The 
iron  woman  shall  be  restored  to  the  filigree 
silver. 

Life  that  is  grained  in  granite  shall  be  softened. 

I  am  an  antidote  even  to  myself.  I  will  amelio 
rate. 

[142] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


I  will  hang  lush  grasses  all  over  the  bare  rocks. 

They  shall  be  fringed  with  a  green  entwining 

and  bordered  with  bloom. 
I  will  spread  a  shade  and  a  coolness  where  now 

the  sun  beats  down. 
I  will  walk  in  the  shadowy  softness,  like  a  mantle 

of  mist  overspreading. 

I 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXVIII 

What  if  life  came  by  with  freedom,  and  I  knew 
not  how  to  take  it? — I,  habitated  to  bondage, 
the  eagle  chained  to  the  rock,  and  when  the 
chain  was  slipped,  with  no  impulse  to  soar. 

What  if  she  slipped  the  thongs  and  let  my  burden 
fall  from  me,  and  yet  I  did  not  move  on?  I 
had  lost  the  use  of  buoyant  feet.  My  bur 
dened  back  no  longer  knew  response  or 
resilience. 

What  life  would  need  to  bring  to  me  with  her  gift 
of  freedom,  would  be  a  new  sense  of  freedom 
for  the  one  that  had  atrophied.  I,  the  little, 
mean,  habitated  slave  to  a  condition, 
weighted  down  like  divers  who  go  down  to 
sea. 


[144] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXIX 

I  try  to  grasp  the  infinite,  when  I  have  never 

grasped  the  hour. 
I  want  heaven,  and  I  have  never  laid  hold  of  the 

earth. 

I  try  to  reach  God,  when  I  have  never  reached  man. 
Today  goes  unperformed,  yet  I  demand  an  infinity 

of  years. 
I  will  not  ask  of  the  resurrection  after  death.     I 

am  concerned  with  the  resurrection  in  life.    I 

who  am  buried  in  the  tomb  of  today  want  the 

assurance  of  the  ascension  tomorrow.     I  do 

not  ask  if  I  shall  live  then — I  am  not  sure  that 

I  live  now. 
I  do  not  want  a  beautiful  theory  that  will  make  my 

going  sweet.    I  want  a  beautiful  fact  that  will 

sweeten  my  stay. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXX 


I  will  register  my  way  through  life  in  color,  or 
in  song,  or  maybe  in  chiseled  marble,  or 
pounded  brass.  By  these  things  you  shall 
know  me.  You  shall  know  how  it  is  with  my 
soul. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXI 

vTo  be  willing  to  be  nothing. 
[To  do  the  work,  and  erase  the  workman. 
To  paint  the  picture,  and  remove  the  palettes  and 

myself. 
To  build  a  temple,  and  be  willing  to  be  the  bearer 

of  the  chalice,  the  keeper  of  the  vestry,  the 

swayer  of  the  burning  myrrh. 
To   build  me  a  lofty  spire  to  the  sky,  not  in 

pride  but  in  all  humility.    It  shall  touch  the 

heavens,  while  I,  its  humble  builder,  kneel 

lowly  on  its  stone  steps  to  pray. 


[147] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXII 

There  is  a  river  fringed  with  willows,  a  little  river, 
flowing  ever  through  my  days.  Its  source  is 
back  there  in  the  youth-time,  when  it  wore  its 
ineffaceable  channel,  when  it  imprinted  its 
old  mill,  its  covered  bridge  and  its  seven 
hills,  until  it  is  like  fossil  tracery  of  fern  on 
rock,  these  pictures  of  its  sand-bar,  its  wooden 
dam  and  its  stone  abutment. 

I  still  wade  there  barefoot  in  my  river.  I  still 
drift  on  my  river  in  long  hours  of  recall.  I 
am  still  a  young,  slim  youth-thing,  and  not 
this  world-worn  one  dreaming  back  to  a  time. 


141 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXIII 


Life  might  have  grown  flowers  and  vines  in  the 
beginning,  but  now  I  must  grow  them  to  cover 
the  fissures  and  the  rents. 

I  must  grow  forests  on  my  hills  to  cover  the  up 
heaved  rock,  and  deep  verdure  in  my  valleys, 
to  cover  the  bed  of  my  dead  sea. 


\ 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXFV 

My  life  shall  no  longer  be  locust  blossoms  that 
have  never  hung  exotic,  nor  roses  that  have 
never  come  out  of  their  latency. 

Its  lilies  shall  unfold  on  their  long  stems,  and  its 
violets  grasp  their  purple  souls  out  of  the  soil. 
Its  poinsettias  shall  assemble  their  crimson 
beings  out  of  the  earth  and  the  elements. 

My  life  that  is  many  things  that  are  unformed, 
uncreate,  atomic,  shall  have  coherence. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXV 

I  said  I  was  living  life,  but  I  was  misliving  it. 
What  I  called  life  was  death.  I  was  putting 
the  grave-clothes  on  everything  worth  while. 

Knowing  that  the  thing  I  live  is  not  life,  but  death; 
not  truth,  but  falsity;  not  nature,  but  distor 
tion;  will  I  rise  up  and  do  the  thing,  or  am  I 
but  one  more  coward  of  being? 


[151] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXVI 

Let  my  soul  awake,  though  it  follow  that  all  that 
makes  life  today  is  but  part  of  the  dream. 
What  a  small  price  to  pay  for  verity! 

I  will  accept  truth,  though  it  mean  that  every 
ent  reality  must  pass  as  a  chimera. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXVII 

Have  I  the  courage  of  my  prayers? 

I  pray  for  a  thing,  but  if  it  came,  am  I  sure  I 
should  have  the  fortitude  to  accept  it?  Have 
I  the  capacity  to  accept  truth?  We  pray,  and 
have  not  the  courage  to  accept  the  answer  to 
our  prayers — and  still  we  pray. 

We  invite  a  thing  to  depart,  and  then  nail  it  down 
for  fear  it  will.  We  pray  for  our  misery  to 
go,  and  when  it  gets  up  to  do  so,  we  go  over 
and  lock  the  door.  We  cry  for  freedom,  and 
we  cry  harder  when  we  get  it. 


[153] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXVIII 

We  have  not  the  courage  of  the  sundering,  the 

fortitude  of  consummation. 

fit  is  not  to  know  what  to  do,  but  strength  to  do  n%) 
knowing. 

V 

N 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXIX 

I  should  believe  in  myself  if  God  Himself  faltered 

in  belief  of  me. 

I  should  remember  the  time  when  the  thing  I 
wrought  refused  to  be,  and  I  should  know 
how  He  felt  when  He  looked  despairingly^ 
upon  me,  a  world  that  would  not  cohere,  frag-  | 
I  ments  that  would  not  assemble,  a  meaning  ; 
»  that  refused  to  manifest. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXX 

Deliverance!    It  is  something  we  see  when  we  turn 
in  our  sleep,  in  our  restless  dream. 

If  one  could  but  understand  that  one's_cjrucifixion  ; 
is  the  way  of  one's  ascension,  but  it  is  so  slow  I 
a  process  and  one  is  crushed  under  the  weight  ( 
of  its  seeming  unmeaning. 

How  could  I  know  when  I  was  buried  in  the  tomb  | 
that  the  stone  would  roll  away? 


[156] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXI 

The  things  that  are  etched  upon  my  life — acid  on 

copperplate!  .  .  . 
To  know  the  disillusionments  of  life,  and  to  come 

enchanted  still. 
To  break  all  its  glass  balls,  and  then  to  find  that 

life  did  not  lie  in  the  glass  balls.y 
To  have  all  my  idols  shattered,  and  then  to  find 

God  in  the  earth  at  their  base. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXII 


"X.       I  will  fulfill  my  wildest  dream  of  receptivity  of 

life. 
I  will  trust  the  thing  which  I  involuntarily  am,  and 

one  day  it  shall  be  verified  and  confirmed. 
I  will  find  new  currents  in  me  of  untried  force  and 

velocity. 
I  will  be  lusty  and  virile,  that  the  thing  I  do  may 

be  strong  in  the  mesh. 
I  am  the  great  distributor,  the  great  dispenser,  in 

their  exalted  meaning. 

• 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 

LXXXIII 

Life  may  take  everything  out  of  my  days,  but  the 

real  things  remain. 
You  may  destroy  my  castles,  but  I  have  the  timbers 

to  build  ten  thousand  more. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXIV 

Are  there  no  far  reaches  in  me,  no  unexplored 
worlds?  Are  there  no  undiscovered  peoples? 
Am  I  so  limited  and  defined? 

Is  there  no  far,  far  East,  no  sunset  land?  Is  there 
no  frozen  North,  no  torrid  equator? 

Are  there  no  horizons  of  yearning,  no  unwinged 
firmaments  of  longing?  No  depths  and 
heights  and  breadths  of  unappeasement? 

Have  I  no  estate  over  which  my  soul  has  long  made 
beaten  paths?  No  things  which  yearning  has 
long  established  as  my  own? 

Is  there  nothing  in  me  that  soars  and  sings?  No 
untrodden  areas  of  delight?  No  undefined, 
ecstatic  vistas? 

Do  I  not  quiver  with  joy's  vagueness,  with  unnamed 
realization  of  dream?  With  undefined  yearn 
ing  for  the  ultimate  of  me? 


[160] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXV 

I  shall  not  mind  what  I  am,  if  I  have  the  courage 
to  nail  it  to  the  bulletin  board  on  the  public 
scjuare.  My  vindication  shall  be  my  zealot's 
faith. 

I  am  not  less  than  the  mountain  range  that 
stretches  away  in  its  infinite  line  of  being,  that 
lifts  up  its  head,  confident  and  without 
apology. 

My  life  is  not  less  than  the  stars  that  come  forth 
in  their  place  at  night  and  shine. 

Whatever  I  do,  or  am,  give  me  the  courage  to 
espouse  it.  I  might  know  what  to  do  about 
sin  or  defects,  but  I  should  not  know  what  to 
do  about  cravenness. 

i 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXVI 

Only  I  am  unstable.  The  sun  does  not  hesitate  in 
its  shining,  the  dawn  presents  in  assurance. 
Only  I  vacillate,  am  ill  at  ease. 

Only  I  come  forth  in  weakness,  in  unaccented  ac 
tion  and  performance,  in  the  unfaith  of  life, 
in  wavering  unbelief  and  insecurity,  doubting 
the  time,  the  placement,  and  the  reason  for 
being. 

Only  I  am  unpoised.  God  is  going  His  equable 
way,  the  great  law  of  cosmos  has  not  been 
disturbed,  the  universe  remains  serene,  the 
stars  have  not  missed  a  night  in  the  sky.  Day 
and  night  continue  to  alternate.  They  have 
not  been  confused. 

All  these  are  not  perturbed — why  then  I? 

It  is  only  I  who  am  shouting  and  waving  my  hands, 
only  I  who  am  shrieking  to  space,  who  dis 
claim  my  security,  who  have  not  peace.  The 
stars  are  quiet,  the  moon  is  serene,  the  earth 
is  rhythmic.  Only  I  am  out  of  harmony  and 
ill  at  ease. 


. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXVII 

Our  prayers  make  beggars  of  us  all.  We  pray  for 
blessings,  when  they  can  only  be  evolved;  for 
peace  when  it  is  a  result;  and  for  grace  when 
it  is  a  growth. 

We  ask  as  alms  that  which  is  ours  by  divine  dili 
gence.  We  pray  for  things  to  be  bestowed 
that  have  their  origin  only  in  us,  and  for 
things  to  be  given  that  are  already  in  our 
possession. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXVIII 

The  meanness  of  life,  but  the  splendor  of  its  pos 
sibilities! 

The  miserable  thing  I  make  of  it,  but  the  God- 
thing  it  might  be! 

I  might  drain  it  of  its  dead  waters,  and  plant  banks 
of  roses,  and  glad  trees,  and  buoyant  grasses. 

I  might  entice  the  wanton  winds  to  dance  through 
it,  and  the  moonbeams  to  caper  over  it. 

I  might  bring  lovers  to  wander  through  its  twilight 
fragrance. 


[164] 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


LXXXIX 

I  have  no  quarre*  with  nature,  and  one  day  I  shall 
have  none  with  individuals. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


xc 


Somewhere  that  radiant  thing,  Life,  lies  latent  in 
the  brier  stem  of  me,  and  one  day  it  will  burst 
forth  in  crimson  roses. 

One  day  the  new  spring  soil  of  me  will  emit  its 
blossoming  violet  soul. 

One  night  the  lark  will  sing  in  my  trees. 


A  SOUL'S  FARING 


XCI 

Somewhere  there  are  fledglings  in  a  nest  that  I 
have  come  to  feed,  that  must  otherwise  perish. 

Somewhere  some  one  prays  to  be  released,  some 
one  prays  that  I  shall  not  be  so  long,  that  I 
shall  not  tarry  on  the  way. 

The  rabble  is  at  my  door,  the  world  is  demanding. 
It  holds  out  its  shackled  wrists,  and  points  to 
its  greying  temples. 

And  I  am  coming.  I  am  delayed — delayed  be 
cause  I,  too,  am  lost,  but  I  am  coming,  and  I 
will  arrive,  and  I  will  reach  you! 


[167] 


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